Unexpected
by xxBTGXX
Summary: It's all over now. For the most part. How do broken people move on? In unexpected ways.


The boy and girl were growing back together. It was slow- painfully slow- but the boy spent more ad more days- and nights- with her. It was about time, but that meant he was no longer needed, or, didn't have a reason to pretend he was needed anymore. So he got geese. He was definitely loaded when the decision was made, but it was probably the best thing he'd ever done for himself in a long, long time. Getting away into the meadows that were slowly growing back, allowing him to breathe fresh air, and just clear his head for once was the closest thing to peace he was ever going to have in this life. (It was also the best place to suck down bottle after bottle of white liquor, but that didn't seem very poetic, so he left that part out.) Sometimes he won't come home for a few days. He'll sleep- or pass out- under the stars in the sky while his geese honk and squawk around him. After a day or so, he'll wake up and always find a blanket or something of the sort draped over him and a basket of bread beside him. That boy will be the death of him, whether out of guilt or slight happiness, he wasn't sure. Next to the basket would be some dead animal, shot through the eye. It wasn't really for him to eat, but a message saying she was alright and getting better. But all those things became ritual and they weren't what almost did him in. No, only one person in the world could completely throw him, and she showed up at the edge of the meadow one night.

Matilda, his best gal, was the first to start the 'intruder' alarm that made him slosh liquor down his front and nearly drop the bottle. He swore, yelling vicious things at the cursed goose, when all his slurs fell silent. He gave an incredulous look, blinked once-twice-even three times and then just stared. For once in her life, she didn't seem to have planned out what she was doing. She merely stared back at him, her hands together in front of her and playing with her nails. Whether it's the booze or his pure confusion at the sight of her, for some reason a grin stretches across his lips as he raises his bottle in the air.

"Well, lookie here! Found your way back to this place, Sweetheart?" He laughs and takes a swig from the bottle. He's waiting for the familiar scowl and scolding, but she does nothing. In fact, the slight vacant look in her large, blue eyes almost scares him a little. He takes another gulp and his geese honk away, the only thing keeping total silence away from the two of them.

After what seems like hours, she finally gains back a little of the old Effie Trinket and clears her throat. "Hello, Haymitch. How are you?"

He lets out a loud guffaw at the question. How is he? He's standing in the middle of a flock of geese, in the dead of night, with alcohol soaking his front. He's never been better and he tells her so, still laughing as he takes another swig. Again, he waits for a scoff, smart remark, a disgusted look- anything. But her eyes are far away, seeing something he can't. it angers him, to his surprise and he says a bit sharper than he intended, "What are you doing here?"

Her dazed eyes find his once more and they blink slowly. He has to suppress the urge to march over and shake her until she snaps out of it. "Isn't your big, pretty house in the Capitol getting lonely without you?" He doesn't even understand the snarl in his voice, but instantly regrets it as he sees hurt well up in her eyes and she flinches slightly, even tough she tries to cover it with a shiver. The night isn't that cold. Now he knows something is definitely wrong. Effie didn't get hurt at his words, sure she'd pretend because they were rude and 'totally uncalled for', but he'd never seen her actually take to heart anything he said.

When she speaks, her voice doesn't sound like the one he'd come to gain a headache from just by hearing it. "Actually… I live here now." He stares at her in shock, did he hear her right? All joking aside now, he asks roughly,

"What?"

Her eyes find his, finally losing that haunted, far away look and she gives a simple shrug. "The victor's village has always had vacant houses. I live next to Peeta…" She trails off and rubs her arm uncomfortably. What the hell was this? Effie Trinket, the epitome of all things vain, foolish and – worst of all- Capitol, was acting like a lost, alone schoolgirl. He has no idea why this enrages him as much as it does.

"He- He said I'd find you here." She finishes quickly, looking down and lowering her head. He doesn't answer her, he doesn't know how. She seemed to have said all she came to say, because she only looks at him again with those big blue eyes. Something registers that hadn't before.

She had on next to no make-up, her face wasn't powder-white but pink in the chilly night air. Fake lashes didn't adorn her large eyes, but the most shocking thing of all was something that stuck him more than it probably should have. She had on no wig. Her real hair that he'd never seen before is cut short and in thin, wispy blonde curls. And even in his half-drunken state he couldn't deny; she was beautiful. Beautiful and broken.

He offers nothing and neither does she. She bows her head slightly to him, a parting gesture, then turns and begins to walk away. He watches her, but doesn't go after her. He takes another swig of his bottle and heads back to the geese.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He wakes up in his house a few nights later, yelling and slashing blindly with his knife and panting heavily. Sweat clung to him, making his hair stick to his face and shirt to his back. He stumbles out of his bed, his hands shaking, grabbing a bottle from the dresser. He practically trips down the stairs and slams open his front door, the blast of cold air that hits him finally allowing him to breathe again. He clenches one hand on the porch railing, feeling the old wood creak at his sheer force. His head lowers between his shoulders as he hastily gulps down the bottle in his other hand. He doesn't know how long he stays there, but his fingers and toes were beginning to go numb and not from the booze. He turns to go back inside when across the street he hears another door slam. He turns, waiting to see Peeta or Katniss seeking the same refuge as he, but that's not what he finds.

Next to Peeta's dark house, the front door of the one beside it swings open with a bang and out falls Effie. Even from this distance, he can see how badly she is shaking. He watches in helpless surprise and silence as she grips the railing of the porch, her knees failing her as she sinks to the ground. He swears he can hear her breathing from here- short, frantic gasps as if she were afraid of the air she' s breathing in. He stands there in the still darkness and merely watches her as she sobs into her palm, trying to hold it together because that's what Effie does. Smile, please, look pretty. That's what's expected of her.

He wonders if he should go over to her, knowing he won't know how to comfort her, when her head suddenly raises, as if hearing his thoughts. She turns to him. Their eyes meet, his bloodshot and hers sparkling with tears as they just stare at each other from across the street. He feels frozen, trapped under her piercing blue eyes when they suddenly flash with something he can't place. Instantly, she is back on her feet and sets her jaw firmly. He watches as she wipes away the tears from her eyes, takes in a deep breath of the crisp air and, without glancing at him again, turns and silently walks back into the large, dark house.

He stands there a few minutes more after her departure. His eyes are still on the place where she'd crumpled, clinging to the railing of the porch for dear life and her tiny frame shaking like a leaf in the wind. Then he also silently turns and goes back inside.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It rains the next day, a cold, long rain. He pulls on boots and a coat with a low swear under his breath. He yanks open the door to go and make sure the geese were holding out. He slips and slides as he makes his way up the hill to the meadow, swearing and cursing Mother Nature the entire way. His voice abruptly dies off, however, as he finally reaches the meadow and such a bizarre sight meets his eyes. All he can do is stare through the pelting raindrops.

In the middle of his flock, that was soaking wet and honking loudly in displeasure, stood Effie. She had on a large, long white over shirt that hung on her body like a sack, reaching just past her upper thighs and that was it. She must've just gotten out here, because the shirt was not yet clinging to her from the rain. But her blonde curls were matted to her face that was turned upward towards the sky, eyes closed, an almost relieved look over it. He watches in stunned silence as she raises her arms slowly up above her head and a smile takes over her lips. A small, tight smile, but a smile all the same. Then she starts to twirl.

Haymitch, by this point, is nearly beside himself as he watches the prim and proper Effie Trinket, wearing next to nothing, standing in a flock of dirty, smelly geese, dancing in the freezing rain. And the strangest part of it all? He didn't want her to stop, he was happy to just stand there and watch her. He shakes his head at himself and scowls. What's wrong with him? He raises his hands, cups them to his mouth and shouts,

"You got a death wish, Sweetheart? 'Cuz when you get pneumonia I ain't gonna be the one feeding you soup!" Her face turns away from the sky and her eyes slowly open. Her body stops swaying. He comes over, fighting his way through geese, and walks straight up to her. He raises a hand and none too gently checks her forehead. Great, the idiot was starting to get a fever.

"What are you doing out here?" He grumbles and shrugs off his coat, draping it around her body, which was thinner than he had realized.

"I can feel it." He turns his head to her as she whispers softly, her eyes back up in the sky. "I can finally feel it…"

In a throaty grumble he takes her feet out from under her. He can't help but notice how she flinches slightly at his touch.

"Not for long. You're hands are numb and your head's burning up. Let's get you home now, you moron."

She doesn't fight him, but he observes as she folds inside herself, leaning as far away from him as she can.

"I'm too old for this," he grunts as he makes his way back down to the village. He's sure the geese will be fine. He carries her back to her house, sets her on the sitting room couch and quickly makes to light a fire.

"You might wanna go get something dry on." He tells her in a rougher voice than he meant to. She looks down at herself and he sees a flush come over her cheeks, though it could be just the oncoming fever. She pulls his coat tighter around herself and slowly disappears up the stairs. It's a few minutes before she comes back down and she's swaying slightly. He swears and goes over, helping her to her couch and laying her down. He throws a blanket over her small body and then stands there awkwardly. After a minute, he says,

"I'll-uh- tell the kids to come check on you later." He stands for another unsure minute then turns to go when a small, frail hand reaches and grabs his. He jerks in surprise, but stops and waits. Her eyes find his and they are wide and terrible.

"Haymitch." He doesn't know what to do, so he just stands there. She seems uncertain and then slowly lets go of his hand and whispers, "How do… how do you deal with the nightmares?" He feels his heart pang painfully in his chest and he hesitates for a moment before crouching beside her head. Her blue eyes stay trained on him.

"Do I look like I deal with them?" She closes her eyes and for a minute it looks like she'll cry and he swears, that's not something he knows how to deal with. She takes a shuddering breath and reaches for his hand again.

"Let me go get a rag for your head_" But her shaking her head stops him and her grip tightens on his hand, though it's still weaker than an infant's.

"Will you stay?" Her voice cracks and he feels another pang in his heart. "I mean-un- unless you have something else to do… would you just… stay with me until I fall asleep?" As he stares at this frail, broken woman before him he realizes with a bit of shock and even a trace of fear that he can't refuse her. Without waiting for his reply, she pulls his hand to her, holding it in hers and pressing it to her cheek as her eyes flutter closed. He succumbs, sinking to the floor with a painful groan. He really was too old for this.

"Thank you, Haymitch." She silently breathes and he just taps her curls with his free hand.

"Just go to sleep, Trinket."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

For once, it isn't the hauntings of his past that wake him. There's a pain in his neck and lower back and he sits up, confused and sober. He blinks deliriously and looks around him, when it finally comes back. He's at Effie's house and he'd fallen asleep on the floor while waiting for her to fall asleep. He moans as he pulls himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at her and gently presses the back of his hand to her forehead. Her fever had gone down. That was good.

He straightens the blanket over her, making sure her feet are covered. He then built the fire back up to warm the room again and turns to go, when a gasp cuts him short. He turns back around just in time to duck as something, he's not sure exactly what, flew towards his face. She had sprung from the couch at frightening speed and was staring at him as though he were a three-headed monster. Her eyes are crazed as she backs away. He reaches for her as she was backing closer and closer to the fire and she screams. He winces at the horrible, bone-rattling sound and makes for her again, but jumps back in pain as she swipes at his face, her nails gouging his cheek just below his eye. She screams and screams until he finally manages to grip her wrists and force her to calm down.

"Wake up, Sweetheart, it's me! You almost took my eye out!" He shakes her, probably more roughly than he should have and yells at her. Nothing is getting through to her, though, and she continues to writhe and kick until finally he shouts,

"Effie! It's me! It's Haymitch!" Finally her eyes start to lose that haunted look and she takes deep, gasping breaths, her eyes blinking wildly. Her struggles start to slow and he relaxes his grip on her wrists. He sees the skin underneath his fingers, red and irritated, with a flash of guilt he knows they'll probably be bruises by morning. She looks up at him, utterly confused and looking afraid.

"Hay-Haymitch?" Not knowing what to say, he just nods and finally lets go of her completely, taking a step back. That's when she notices his eye and gasps, placing a hand over her mouth. She turns away hastily and goes to the kitchen. He hears water running and slowly sinks down into a chair next to the fireplace, feeling more exhausted (and wanting a bottle) than ever before. When she reenters the room, she has a wet towel and cautiously comes to kneel in front of him. She hesitates for a second, then reaches, removing his hand from over the scratches and gently dabbing at them with the end of the towel wrapped around her finger. He winces slightly at the sting and her eyes grow heavy with sorrow.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers and he notices her hands are shaking. But he only shakes his head and reaches his hand, pulling hers away from the wounds, flipping it over, and slowly running his thumb across a long scar from the top of her palm to just past her wrist. The scar from a knife.

"I've hurt you, too." He says softly and looks her in her big, sad eyes. She gives him a sad, broken smile as she whispers back,

"What's happened to me?"

That was easy for him to answer and he let go of her hand, giving her a big, ruthful grin and raising a pretend bottle to her.

"You've been through hell and back, Sweetheart. Welcome to the club."

And she cries as she continues to clean his cuts.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When the rain stops and the sun fills the sky again, he has some of the best days he's had since before his games. She sits in the meadows with him, wrinkles her nose at the geese and frowns at his drinking. She's slowly regaining the person she was, nitpicking him about his hygiene, appearance and- of course- manners. Funny how what used to make him want to strangle her now brings him such relief and- almost, not quite, but almost- happiness.

There are moments when something strange stirs inside him. When she laughs her true laugh at something he's said or done, when the sunlight hits her golden hair just right and it shines like a halo on top of her head, or when a butterfly comes and lands on her shoulder if she holds still enough, or when he catches her before she falls because she is clumsy without her shoes and she smiles at him in a way she never has before. These moments make him spin with mixed emotions that just end up leaving him with a headache, so he decides not to dwell on them much.

They fight, too, over almost anything. She'll yell and get upset and he'll yell right back, storm out and once he even smashed a full bottle of liquor on the ground. But in the end, no damage is ever done, because that's how they work. It gives some normalcy back to their lives.

The night, however, is where he thinks the biggest change happens. Her nightmares become so frequent, so horrible, that he stays more and more beside her bed through the nights. He holds her hands and calls her back to reality, but one night she shakes so hard that he slips into the covers beside her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest just to get her to stop. It works, and it slowly becomes routine. Soon he stops sleeping with his knife for fear of hurting her. When they both wake up sweaty and screaming they now have each other to cling to, and they do. She buries her face in his chest and his in her sweet-smelling hair, trying to calm their breathing an racing hearts.

The stirrings inside him start to come more frequently over things that don't make sense. They happen when he sees her brushing her hair or when she gently swings her legs back and forth as they dangle off the porch, when he sees her eating the boy's bread with a smile. They don't make him sick anymore, though anxiety is still underneath. No, they make him feel something that he had forgotten to feel during the whole battle, the whole fight- hope.

Hope for what exactly, he didn't truly know, but it slowly began to consume him. After the kids have their first baby- a beautiful, healthy bright-eyed girl- he understands.

He hardly drinks anymore, because he's found a new anchor, something to hold him when the fear and darkness threaten to swallow him up, but that wasn't the only reason. This anchor also needs him and he has to be strong enough to hold it down. He is needed, no longer just pretending to be.

So one night, when the nightmares come and he gently coaxes her back to reality, he does so with a kiss. A soft, small touch of his lips to hers, but the warmth that flows through him is stronger than anything. And she kisses him back.

Many nights later, he'll work up the courage enough to say, "Marry me."

And she'll smile and say, "Okay."


End file.
